


I Know About My Love

by cliffhanging



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drugs, Gangs, M/M, Other, Slow Burn, Summer Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:05:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliffhanging/pseuds/cliffhanging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vikings Modern AU.</p><p>17 year old Athelstan is forced to spend his summer vacation with his father in a run down beach town. While there he meets Ragnar, a handsome young thug, and things inevitably get complicated and dangerous for both of them.</p><p>Archive warnings will change.</p><p>[ON HIATUS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a plot that's been dancing around in my mind for a little while, and I really wanted to write a little fic for it, to get it out of my system. It's also my first Vikings fic. I won't be looking over it or editing it until it's finished, i.e. until all parts are posted, so sorry for mistakes.
> 
> I hope I have fun writing this, gosh darn it!

**Part One**

Athelstan is uncomfortable the moment his mother pulls up to his father's small beach house. As he steps solemnly out of his mother's beat up minivan, the air stifles him, hot and baking. He has to squint to keep the sun from searing his eyes, and he feels his breath dry up as he stares despairingly at the peeling, mint green front door of his father's house, then turns and casts a final betrayed gaze towards his mother, who is watching him expectantly from the comfort of the driver's seat.

"Go on, Athelstan, take your things," she says, jerking her chin at him. "He should be in there. Said he'd be waiting to settle you in."

Athelstan chews at his lower lip, then nods slowly, taking his two suitcases and backpack out of the car and piling them unceremoniously onto the side of the road. There isn't even a proper driveway, just a grassy curb.

Athelstan's heart feels clenched with his despair, to the point of being painful. Since his mother had gotten a new job, she's been required to do a lot of travelling, and this summer particularly, she wouldn't be able to care for Athelstan due to how long she would be away. She had made the hasty decision to dump Athelstan on her ex-husband, Athelstan's father, someone who he hasn't been face to face with in two years, and has barely ever gotten along with. Athelstan hadn't had a say in the matter. His mother had not even asked him about it, had simply signed the fate of his summer away without his knowledge, and had only told him a mere week before school was to be let out. Needless to say, he'd been upset.

He feels frustrated tears prick beneath his eyelids, but bites down harder on his lip and forces them down. This is it. There's nothing he can do about it. He's spending his summer vacation at his father's beach house, way out next to nowhere.

Athelstan looks at his mother again, once he has managed to neutralize his expression. 

"Must I stay here? Truly, I can't stay at my aunt's?" he asks in a pitifully small voice, already bracing himself for the inevitable answer.

"We've been through this, honey," she sighs, "your aunt is much too busy to have to take care of you, and your father hasn't seen you in years. It's due time that you two spend some time together. No, don't start this argument again," she snaps when Athelstan opens his mouth to reply. "Just... go. Get yourself moved in. And for the love of God, try and enjoy yourself. I'll give you a call when I can."

Athelstan clicks his teeth together, grinding them in frustration, and slings his backpack up onto one shoulder, taking each of his suitcases by the handles and lugging them to the front door. He's never been able to stand up for himself, especially against his mother. He hears her minivan putter away down the street, but he doesn't turn to watch. He knows he may burst into those frustrated tears if he does.

Squaring his shoulders, he lets go of one suitcase and raps his knuckles against the door, the hot paint burning his skin.

As he waits, he glances around over his shoulder. The road is empty and eerie quiet, except for the distant sound of seagulls calling. All the houses look similar with twirling, patterned architecture, beachy colours, and chipping paint. There are a few small palm trees sprouted about along the walls of the houses, leaves swaying ever so gently. Athelstan feels disconcerted by the atmosphere, unused to it.

His skin prickles and he turns back around, reaching up to knock on the door again, however just in that moment, the door opens, and Athelstan's fist hangs limply in the air as he looks up to meet eyes with his father.

The man is dressed in a faded tee shirt and equally worn jeans. His beard has grown longer than Athelstan has ever seen it. Athelstan lowers his hand and nods, forcing a smile onto his face. 

"Sorry, Athelstan, was just working on something," his father says gruffly, stepping aside and gesturing Athelstan forward. "Welcome home. Come on in, son."

No. This isn't home.

"Thanks," Athelstan replies awkwardly, shuffling into the house and stepping on the heels of his shoes to remove them.

"So, your mother didn't stick around?" his father asks, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms as he watches Athelstan.

Athelstan feels his stomach clench, and straightens up once he is out of his shoes, staring coolly at his father. "Obviously not," he says, trying to keep his tone polite. "She needed to catch her flight."

His father nods slowly, pursing his lips for a moment and then pushing off of the wall, reaching up and slapping his hand down on Athelstan's shoulder. Athelstan keeps the grimace off of his face. "Well, it's good to see you again, son," he says, giving him a couple more pats before sizing him up. He doesn't move to hug his son. He isn't that kind of man. Athelstan appreciates that in this moment. 

"You've grown a couple inches," he comments, "and your hair's gotten so long."

Athelstan self-consciously brushes a few of his wild curls out of his eyes. "Ah, yes, I suppose."

"How's school been for you?"

God, Athelstan truly does not want to have this conversation.

"It's been good, dad. I've graduated."

His father smiles. "So you have. Congratulations. You'll be going to university?"

"Yes. For history and religious studies."

"That's great, son."

Athelstan nods stiffly. A few beats of uncomfortable silence pass, before his father gestures to the staircase a few feet away. "Well, I'll leave you to get yourself set up. You want me to make you something to eat?"

"Oh... Yes, thank you."

Athelstan's father excuses himself to the kitchen and leaves Athelstan alone in the entryway. Athelstan stands there for a moment, recollecting himself, then picks up his things and carries them up the narrow wooden staircase, arms straining. Once he reaches the top, the smell of that old mustiness that has settled into the second floor of the cottage hits him. He goes down to the very end of the hallway, where his old bedroom still is. He sets his things down with a soft sigh and looks around the barren room. The musty smell is even stronger. His father likely never comes in here.

Athelstan sits down on the single bed in the far corner, then flops onto his back, letting a gust of air leave him as he stares up at the ceiling. He feels like maybe he should cry now that he's alone, but his body won't let him, still completely strung out from anxiety. He knows he will, though. He knows he will.

-

For the first two days, Athelstan tries to get used to the fact that he will be spending the next ten weeks in a tiny cottage, as a stranger who has no sense of where anything is, and will likely stick out like a sore thumb in a beach town crowd. He hasn't stayed here in years, and barely remembers anything about it.

His father is no help, always spending his time 'working on something', be it his boat, his job, or some other thing. After the third day of being holed up in the cottage, his father comes to him and tells him to go out and do something with himself. Athelstan had been dreading this, but he leaves without argument through the front door, dressed in a grey tee shirt and dark jeans. Obviously, he hadn't packed the right clothing for this place, seeing as he'd had so little time to prepare.

He doesn't spare much thought on deciding where to go; he simply begins his walk down the street, eyes flicking around nervously, hands stuffed in his pockets. It isn't hard for him to find the ocean. He can hear it, smell it, see it through the rows of houses. Almost subconsciously, he makes his way towards it.

Once he reaches the rolling hill of sand that leads down to the shore, he breathes out a small noise and stops in his tracks, mesmerized by the sparkling blue of the ocean, nothing like back home. The beach is, of course, occupied with people; mostly walkers, and a few swimmers and some surfers farther out. Eventually, Athelstan builds up the courage to descend towards the shore, stumbling over sand and stone, some of it kicking up and getting into his sneakers. The air is cooler, saltier.  
Athelstan takes off his shoes and sets them aside, then walks up to the water, standing a few paces away. He stares off into the sea, marveling in its vastness, how far out it seems to go, and again feels his heart clench up, as if he's going to cry. He blinks hard, looking away, and catches the eyes of several people on the beach, all of whom seem to be staring at him indirectly, some giving him odd looks. Athelstan quickly looks down to his bare feet, scuffing his toes into the hot sand. He must look strange, in his jeans.

But, none of them make any move to approach him, so Athelstan spends some time on the beach, simply walking, as well as stopping to pick up a pretty shell or two. By the time he is finished, he realizes that he has an array of different shells, all pearly while, soft pink, baby blue. He tucks them away in his pockets, not wanting to toss them back onto the ground, before he returns to his father's house later that day, feeling a little more at ease with himself.

-

Athelstan starts a collection. When he isn't in his room or in his father's front yard, he goes down to the beach or by the rocks to search for particularly pretty shells. It almost seems to keep his mind occupied enough to avoid dwelling on his situation. His mother hasn't called him, which doesn't really surprise him, though it still hurts. He hates to think about it.

One week passes sluggishly. Sunday evening, Athelstan claims a bench by the beach and watches the sun set into the ocean, the sky alight with oranges and pinks. He'd forgotten how pretty beaches were, how much he enjoyed the water. Though it doesn't make him any less upset with his mother, it brings him to peace with his situation. Perhaps it won't be too terrible to endure through the next few weeks, even with no one to talk to. He can't help keeping to himself, introverted as he is, and the townsfolk seem to sense a depressive vibe from him. His father isn't much of a talker.  
As the air begins to cool, and the sky to darken, Athelstan heads back to his father's house. As he enters through the front door and scuffs off his shoes, he hears his father call for him from the kitchen, something that rarely happens.

His father is seated at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, though he looks up and smiles crookedly at Athelstan as he enters the room.  
"Athelstan, I'm glad you came back in. I was beginning to worry about you."

Athelstan furrows his brows, stopping to stand a few feet away from the table. "Why? I've been out for hours on end every day."

His father lays down the newspaper onto the kitchen table, jabbing a finger at it. "There's been an arrest made today. Just near this neighbourhood."

Athelstan's eyes widen in surprise. "Has there? Why?"

"Young man and his friend were caught smoking weed. Police decided to search his car and found more weed, and some ecstasy. He's probably been charged for drug possession."

His father sighs tiredly, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"...Ecstasy? Isn't that rather... strange, for a place like this?" Athelstan asks after a moment, feeling greatly confused, and a bit frightened.

His father shrugs. "You would think so, but there's been an alarming amount of criminal activity around here for the past month or so. I thought it'd been starting to die down a bit, but it seems not."

Athelstan stands silently, processing this information.

"You need to be a bit careful with where you go while you're out and about, son," his father cut into his thoughts, and his eyes refocus. "Try not to seclude yourself too much. Where've you been going every day?"

"Just... on the beach."

"Alright, well, you should try and stay closer to town for the next few days."

Athelstan simply nods in agreement.

-

He still visits the beach, though he limits his time there to an hour or so before he heads back into town. He continues to collect sea shells in the early morning sunslight, to help pass the time. Of course, his father suspects nothing, and Athelstan doesn't worry for his safety too much. The atmosphere of the town is still overall light and carefree.

This morning the teen ambles up the beach with two new seashells in his pocket, humming softly to himself. The weather has been oddly cool for the past couple of days, and Athelstan highly prefers it that way, subconsciously missing the colder weather from his home city. He heads into town with a slight hop in his step, his curls bouncing around his ears and falling into his eyes.

As he irritatedly brushes his hair away, wondering if he should cut it soon, he glances up and is startled nearly breathless, his humming dying away. A few yards ahead of him, walking in his direction, are two young men who he has never seen before, though he feels like he should have. Both of them are rugged, scruffy and have long hair, one blond and the other brunet. Both are dressed similarly, in cargo shorts and tank tops. They are walking pressed arm to arm, talking fiercely to each other about something that Athelstan can't quite hear from his position.

He can't help staring at them, his pace slowing. He's never seen anyone so young and wild-looking around where his father lives. It's an odd sight. They both look strong, layered with lean muscles. They must be surfers, or something similar, though Athelstan isn't sure.

He doesn't realize how openly he's been staring at them until the shorter blond one glances up, and instantly makes eye contact with Athelstan. His eyes are so pale blue that they almost look colourless, and they fill with a startling amount of hackle-raised aggression as Athelstan's heart jolts painfully from the sudden attention. Athelstan quickly looks away, shoving his hands into his pockets and blushing hot. He hears them deliberately stop speaking as he walks past them, his eyes on the ground. Without looking back, he walks until the next corner, and rounds it, bolting the rest of the way home.

-

"Er, dad... do you happen to know anyone close to my age that lives around here?" Athelstan asks during dinner that night, drumming his fingers anxiously against the table top.

His father glances over to him absently. "Hm? Your age? Can't say that I do. Not around here specifically. Why, did you meet someone?" 

Athelstan shrugs, biting his lip. "Well, I didn't meet them, exactly... I just saw these two young men, and I'd never seen them before, but they were right by our street."

His father furrows his brow, nodding. He takes a thoughtful bite of his salad and chews slowly. A look of concern begins to pass over him, and he looks at Athelstan again.

"You know, I think I have heard about certain young folks loitering around recently. What exactly did these boys look like, Athelstan?"

Athelstan raises his eyebrows, sits up a little straighter. "Well, they looked like they were maybe twenty years old? They had long hair, they were both tall, and, er, muscular. They were dressed quite normal, just in shorts and tanks."

"I see..." His father nods sagely, then fixes Athelstan with a serious stare. "Did they say anything to you? Did they try to do anything? What happened between them and you?"

"What?" Athelstan asks, overwhelmed. "Nothing. They were talking to each other. But why? What have people been saying?"

His father sits back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "Well, there have only been rumours, but people have been speculating that there may be gang activity going on around town."

Athelstan's eyes widen, pulse speeding up at the notion. "Gang activity? As in... shootings?"

"Of course not. Not yet anyway. Most incidents have been drug related only."

Athelstan's brows furrow, and he stares down at his own salad, the image of the two young men reappearing in his mind. They'd both had such a strange aura about them. Perhaps something really is going on, though Athelstan doesn't want to imagine what.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

Athelstan is only able to attempt to ask a few more questions, before his father insists rather sternly that he not dwell on the situation. The man heads up to bed, and tells Athelstan that he should soon follow suit. Athelstan nods coolly, not bothering to answer verbally, suddenly quite irritated at his father's apparent need to withhold information from him.

This is one of the many reasons that Athelstan had never got along with his father. Even to this day, when Athelstan is closer to 18 years old than to 17, his father still treats him as if he is a small child, who wouldn't be able to handle such intense information about thugs, gangs, and what have you. That, or he doesn't want to bother with talking to his son at all. Either way, it is aggravating.

Athelstan, still sitting sullenly at the kitchen table, heaves out a sigh, drawing his feet up onto his chair and wrapping his arms around his knees. The only noise he hears is that of his father's old grandfather clock, ticking away in the living room, and the distant crashing of waves. 

Though Athelstan dislikes considering it, maybe his father is right this time. Athelstan can still clearly visualize those two rugged looking men, so big and tall, staring searing holes into him as they pass him by. The blond one's heated gaze particularly sticks to his memories, and he feels a shiver go down his spine as he remembers the cold, feral nature of those pale blue eyes, holding such dark intent.

Unable to shake the feeling of the stare, Athelstan glances around the empty kitchen, his gaze catching the large window across the room. Usually, he would be able to see through it to the houses across, but this time it is a frame of pitch black. He pictures someone standing there, watching him silently. Unnerved, the teenager gets up and promptly goes up to his room, to try and sleep.

-

The next morning, Athelstan finds himself out by the beach again. Today is particularly windy, and there aren't many people around, allowing Athelstan to explore the length of the shore and dig around for pretty seashells. There's lots of luck today; the waves bring many different coloured ones up onto the softened sand.

Though the beach is calm, Athelstan keeps his guard up, his thoughts still on yesterday's encounter. As he crouches down to pick up different shells, he can't keep the hairs on the back of his neck from raising as he feels as if he is about to be attacked at any moment in such a vulnerable, open space. Every time he crouches, he straightens back up in a snap, staring all around himself, heart accelarating. As times passes, it only gets worse.

"Enough of this," Athelstan mutters to himself, brushing a hand through his curls and glancing furtively around again. He decides it's best that he leaves early. It will probably be better for his mental state if he goes into town as soon as possible, stays closer to people.

Athelstan sticks his hands into his pockets and makes his way away from the shore, back into the winding rows of houses, the wind less intense within the more sheltered place. Slowly, he feels his hackles lower, and his heart settle into a calmer pace. His curls have been tossed up by the wind, sticking out everywhere, and he tries only half heartedly to smooth them out as he walks. There are a few more people in town, riding bikes, sitting on curbs, hanging around outside of corner stores, and otherwise enjoying the cool day.

Athelstan hasn't explored much of the town during his stay, and decides that today would probably be a nice day to do so. He admires the interesting architecture and the smiling faces of passers by, keeping to the side of the road, where he occasionally passes through a spot of shade that makes him shiver.

As he is alone with his thoughts, a memory suddenly strikes him, causing him to gasp softly and smile. When he was much younger, and when his father had just moved to this place, he would often take Athelstan down to the east edge of town, where a lush, green forest grew. There, Athelstan remembers playing in the edge of the forest, weaving around trees and picking flowers to bring back for his mother. The flowers he had usually picked had been red, he recalls, and he can't help smiling to himself. He had loved playing there. It was always so nice and cool, and smelled most heavily of plant life.

Athelstan soon finds himself turning left at the next four-way, just barely dodging a couple of young boys who are running at full speed around the corner. An elderly woman, following a few paces behind them, quickly apologizes to Athelstan, who lets out a shy laugh and waves his hand dismissively before continuing on.

He begins to head east, letting his instincts and memories guide him to his new destination. Perhaps this change of scenery will help to calm him, make him feel more safe and less out in the open. He finds himself walking for quite a time, though the wind keeps his skin from getting seared too painfully by the heat of the sun.

The further he goes, the emptier the roads become. Houses grow more sparse, and Athelstan can no longer see people. He wonders how long he has been walking, though he doesn't really care, as the sun is still relatively high in the sky. 

When Athelstan rounds the next corner, he nearly doesn't catch sight of them, but not a moment too soon, recognition washes over him like a bucket of ice water, and he skids to a halt, his heart shooting up into his throat, before he quickly scrabbles backwards and back behind the house he had just rounded.

He presses his back to the wall, his eyes wide and his heart hammering against his ribs. It's them. It's those same men that Athelstan saw yesterday. They had been leaning against a house only a few houses down the road, but Athelstan hadn't seen what they were doing. He only saw that there were three men, and two of them were those same guys.

Athelstan wills himself to calm down, takes a few deep, silent breaths, his hand pressed against his chest.

What are they doing? Who are they talking to..?

A number of ideas race through Athelstan's mind, none of which are good. They could be drug dealers, like his father had said. Or worse, they could be thieves, murderers, rapists... Athelstan swallows and exhales through his nose, closing his eyes. 

His curiosity is gnawing at him at this point, deeper than his fear. He wonders if they will notice him if he peeks around. Surely not a quick little look would be noticeable. Athelstan could witness something worth seeing. Maybe catch them in some illegal act.

Slowly, silently, ever so carefully, Athelstan turns to press his front against the wall of the house, and holds his breath as he peeks around the corner. They are still there, though they are locked deep into some conversation that Athelstan can't decipher. He narrows his eyes, strains his ears, but can only hear the faint murmur of their deep voices.

Suddenly, one of them, the brunet one from yesterday, turns in Athelstan's direction, and the teenager yanks away so quickly that he stumbles backwards and lands on his ass in the gravel. Heart hammering, he clambers back to his feet and presses back to the wall, listening. He hears nothing. Drawing up all of his courage, he looks back around the corner, prepared to bolt. 

Thankfully, the three young men now have their backs to Athelstan, all of them walking away down the road, even farther from town. The blond, feral-eyed one from yesterday has his hands in his pockets, and is casually kicking at the gravel below his feet, while the other two seem more rigid and tense.

'They're definitely acting... suspicious,' Athelstan thinks to himself, watching them for a few moments. 'Perhaps I can follow them.'

Making the split-second decision, Athelstan steps out into full view, walking after them hesitantly, trailing his fingers along the wall of the house. He isn't sure exactly what the hell he is doing, but he is doing it anyway, determined to find out if they are going to do something unfavourable.

Every few houses, Athelstan steps back into hiding, waiting a few moments and checking around the corners before going out into view again and continuing to follow them. They only keep going farther and farther away from town, still speaking to each other every few minutes. Athelstan begins to wonder if they intend to go to the forest from Athelstan's childhood. What could they possibly be doing that would require them to travel such a distance? It has to be something illegal, hasn't it? Athestan's heart is racing.

The three men reach a corner, and round it swiftly. Athelstan hides for a few moments, then follows after them, hoping that they will reach their intended destination soon. Strategically, he waits for a few beats, then he steps out around the corner with confidence. 

The teenager stops dead in his tracks, a harsh gasp escaping him, his heart damn near stopping, his breathing stopping completely. Standing there facing him are all three of the men that he is following, seemingly waiting for him to arrive. 

Well. Apparently he hadn't been so sneaky. 

The brunet one, also the largest of the three, stares directly into Athelstan's wide, startled eyes, his expression fierce and angry, with the other two, also worryingly larger than Athelstan, standing only a few paces behind him. The one that Athelstan doesn't recognizes is exceptionally tall, and looks highly amused.

"See, I told you we had a tail," the brunet speaks to his companions, an accent thickening his words.

Athelstan's fight or flight response pumps adrenaline thickly through him, and before he knows it, he's turning tail and bolting away down the road at full speed. Hope passes fleetingly through him, that he'll be able to wriggle out of this situation, that he'll make it back into town, but the hope is short-lived when a large, calloused hand closes down on his upper arm and yanks him backwards roughly, surely almost pulling his shoulder out of its socket.

He lets out a loud yelp of pain, lifting his free arm blindly to defend himself. Athelstan feels his back being slammed mercilessly against the wall of some cottage, the stones embedded into it jabbing into his shoulder blades. In only seconds, he finds himself held down by his upper arms, staring up into the terrifying face of the brunet man's wrath.

"Who the fuck are you?" the brunet demands, giving Athelstan a rough shake, and the teenager tries to reply, but can only whimper at the force of the movement.

"Why are you following us? Who sent you?" The man continues to question him harshly, face inches away, and Athelstan's mind reels, forcing him to spit out words, forcing him to survive.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was only- I was only curious, I swear, I wasn't going to do anything!"

"Load of shit," The man growls, his hold tightening impossibly, and Athelstan grinds his teeth together, another pained sound escaping him.

"Ah! Please, please stop..." Athelstan gasps out, staring desperately up into the man's dark eyes, clawing uselessly at his wrists. His father's warnings rush through his distressed mind; to stay in town, to stay safe, to avoid danger, to avoid these men. Oh, how he should have listened. He is surely going to die now.

"That's enough," an unfamiliar voice calls out, and the man holding him freezes, turning his head to look at the blond man who had called out. He has the same accent as the brunet, and walks towards them at a leisurely pace.

"He was following us; he has to be one of them, hasn't he?" the brunet spits at the blond. Athelstan wriggles against the hold on him, but the brunet turns back to him and presses him harder to the wall.

'Oh gods, what am I going to do? Who is "them"?' Obviously, the brunet suspects that Athelstan is some sort of enemy, though he hasn't a clue as to who the brunet could talking about when he says 'them'. His mind doesn't give him much room to think rationally anyway. The adrenaline thundering through his veins scatters the words in Athelstan's mind into an incomprehensible jumble.

The blond stops a couple feet behind the brunet, peering around at Athelstan.

"Mmh. He's only a kid. Let him go," the blond says calmly, his pale irises burning into Athelstan, who can only stare helplessly back, hardly daring to breathe under the intense scrutiny.

The brunet presses his lips together, closing his eyes briefly. "How can you think that risking letting him go is a good idea? Do you not remember what happened last time?"

"Don't be stupid. That was under much different circumstances." The blond steps past the brunet, and leans his shoulder against the wall right next to Athelstan, gazing down at him so coldly that Athelstan feels the urge to tremble, even under the hot sun.

"There's no need to be so harsh. He didn't see anything. Look at him, he's terrified. You won't follow us again, will you?" the blond asks almost sweetly, tilting his head inquiringly, eyes like blizzards.

With no hesitation, Athelstan shakes his head hard, then without thinking stammers out, "No, I won't, I- I promise."

The blond smiles. "Good. Now run along home, English boy." He nudges the brunet, who lets out an angry sigh, then promptly releases Athelstan.

The teenager does not hesitate to turn and run. He runs and runs until he makes it all the way back into town, flying past people and houses, and all the way back to his father's cottage. He runs around behind his father's house and collapses against it, sliding down the wall and into the grass, gasping and sobbing into his hands.

He doesn't go to the forest that day.

-

Athelstan doesn't tell his father what happened. Instead, he remains distant and quiet, and sits in the backyard for the rest of the afternoon. If his father notices this, he doesn't mention it, though Athelstan highly doubts that he would notice if Athelstan went missing for a couple of days.

This thought sends a shiver through him, as he sits against the wall, watching the sun set into the ocean. He probably could have gone missing this morning. If it weren't for that blond man with eyes like ice, the brunet would almost certainly have done much worse than bruise Athelstan's arms.

Athelstan wonders why it was that he was spared. It couldn't be that the blond man had a kind heart, or something like that. If anything he seemed rather cold-hearted.

Once his back begins to ache, Athelstan heads inside. His father is sitting at the kitchen table reading a manual, completely oblivious to his son's distress. He doesn't even notice Athelstan's presence until the teenager slumps down across from him, and even then, he only glances up.

"Oh, hello, Athelstan. Where've you been all day?"

Athelstan keeps his face carefully composed, shrugging. "Just in town."

"Ah. Good. I don't want you down on the beach so much anymore."

Athelstan nods silently, struggling not to make a pained face. His father doesn't notice.

-

Later that night, when his father has gone to bed, Athelstan calls his mother again, sitting curled up against the headboard of his bed. She doesn't answer until the third time that he rings her.

"Hello?" Her voice is tired, and Athelstan flinches, biting his lip.

"Mother?"

"Oh, Athelstan! Hello," she does sound a bit happy to hear him, which gives Athelstan tremendous relief. He breathes out a shaky sigh.

"Mum, I... Why haven't you called me back?" he asks timidly.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she sighs, "but you knew I was going to be terribly busy. I've barely had the time to sit down."

"Yes, I know, but...." Athelstan trails off. A part of him feels angry all of a sudden, wants to tell his mother off for ignoring him like this, but he stops himself, choosing instead to get to the point. "I.... I really don't want to stay here anymore."

"What?"

"I can't stay here. I really... can't."

A heavy sigh. "We've been over this, Athelstan."

"I know, but you don't know what's been happening here. This town isn't... isn't what it used to be. I'm afraid."

"Afraid, Athelstan? Come now, don't start this fight again," his mother interrupts irritatedly, "especially when you know that there is nothing I can do about it. Stop with your sulking. It's been long enough."

Athelstan feels frustrated tears bite at the back of his eyes, and he clenches them shut for a moment. Of course, of course she would react like this. "I am not sulking. I'm in actual danger. Mother, I swear, you don't understand."

"I think I do understand, Athelstan. I understand that you are upset that you were forced to stay with your father over the summer, that you had no say in the matter, yes, yes, I understand. There is nothing I can do about it. And how would your father feel, if he knew you so desperately don't want to stay with him?"

"Why does it matter? He barely cares what I do, either way," Athelstan spits, the itching tears welling up despite his attempts to stop them. 

The hopelessness from a week ago begins to build up in him all over again, overwhelming. He can't stay here, not after what happened, not after those thugs now know his face, not after they actively threatened him. He just can't. She can't make him.

"Enough of this, Athelstan. It's late. We are both tired. Just... go to sleep, get your thoughts sorted. I have to go." Her voice goes a bit softer. "I know you are upset, darling, and I am sorry, but I can't help you. Call me in a few days. I love you."

Athelstan swallows thickly, before forcing himself to reply. "I... I love you too..."

His mother hangs up after that. Athelstan drops the phone and collapses into his bedsheets, cries quietly into his pillow until he somehow falls asleep. 


	3. Part Three

**Part Three**

For the next couple of days, Athelstan lies low and doesn't visit the beach at all. He doesn't dare to try to go to the forest again, too nervous about being out of anyone's sight. Instead, he stays at home, or in the heart of town, for the majority of his days. He starts to familiarize himself with the different places, such as the restaurants, clothing stores, gift shops, and a variety of other service areas. He finds, though, that he mostly enjoys hanging around in the corner stores. They feel safe, and monitored, there's always a magazine to read, a couple of customers casually browsing the isles, and the man who owns the store closest to his father's house is very nice. Athelstan talks to him sometimes, asks him about his day, and gets his daily dose of socializing. 

It's a decent compromise for how he spends his time, though he soon finds himself almost painfully missing the daily periods of seclusion that he supposes he took for granted, once he thinks about it. Now that he doesn't have the luxury of simply hiding out in the woods or on the beach, he feels a bit more stuffed up, crowded in by the small and clustered buildings that make up the beach town. This is also a compromise. He would rather feel even relatively safe and crowded, instead of frightened for his life at every turn just to get a moment alone. The day after the incident, he had thought only for a few moments about visiting the beach as he usually would, and a shiver had torn down his spine, instantly ending any further pondering. Still, he can't help but feel frustrated, and more trapped than he's ever felt, without the support of his mother or father, and not a single place to go and think things over, or rather, avoid thinking things over.

The weather steadily increases over the week, which only worsens his mental state. It becomes so hot that Athelstan almost can't bare it some days, as the sun will nearly immediately burn his pale skin red. When the temperature reaches places as high as 100 degrees, he lays splayed out on the floor in his room, eyes closed, beads of sweat trailing from his forehead and cheeks into his curls, which have gotten even wilder and springy from the incredible heat.

Today is a more forgiving day. Still hot, but bearable enough that Athelstan can step outside and walk for a few blocks into town. He had spent all of yesterday in his room on the floor, just trying not to have a mental breakdown, fists pressed to his temples. He winces a little, feeling a bit silly when he thinks back on it, but he pushes the blame on the weather and recent predicaments.

Athelstan scrapes the side of his hand along his forehead, shaking off the gathered sweat with a grimace. He wants to find an indoor shelter as soon as possible. As he crosses the next four-way, nearly getting hit by a speeding jeep, he realizes that he is only a couple of blocks away from his favourite corner store, and decides that that would be the best place to stop by.

He gets there within the next ten minutes. Pushing open the door, Athelstan anticipates the bell chiming above his head as well as the rush of cooler air that greets him, and a relieved sigh escapes him before he can stop it. He reaches up and grabs on to his tee-shirt collar, giving it a few shakes to air it out as he sweeps his gaze around. There are a few customers; an older woman looking at the drinks in the freezers at the far corner of the store, and a couple of teenage boys hunched together over a magazine.

Athelstan finally makes eye contact with the store owner, and gives a nod and a shy smile, which is returned in an equally subdued manner. The teenager stands still for a moment, then goes up to the man sheepishly.

"Hello again, sir," Athelstan greets, self-consciously brushing his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes, hoping he doesn't look too unpleasant.

"Welcome back, Athelstan. Sure is a hot day."

Athelstan laughs softly. "It is. Much too hot for me."

"I'm guessing that it's colder over in your city?"

"Oh, much colder. Summer there isn't nearly as hot. I used to live in England when I was a lot younger, and there was even more cold."

"Well, you'll get used to it soon enough. I barely feel it anymore, and neither does anyone else in this town. Though I'm sure you should be more careful about sun burn, your skin's as fair as I don't know what."

Athelstan blushes in embarrassment at that, but nods in awkward agreement. "Yes, I'm quite cautious of the sunlight."

The store owner laughs in good nature. Athelstan tells him he'll only be a few minutes, and wanders over into the freezer isle, where the older woman is still looking at drinks. Mostly he wants a drink, but he had also been looking forward to standing in the refreshing chill that surrounds the freezers. He closes his eyes and sighs in relief for the second time, then after a couple of minutes, grabs up a bottle of iced tea and returns to checkout.

"Is the beach looking nice today?" the store owner asks casually as he cashes Athelstan in.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," Athelstan replies with a small shrug and smile, feeling a little pang of wistfulness. In the back of his mind, he registers hearing the bell at the store entrance, indicating a customer entering. He glances over his shoulder on instinct as he digs around in his pocket for change, then upon seeing the glimpse of dirty blond hair, the wide shoulders and torso covered only in a worn tank top, he stops dead, blood running colder than it has in days. No, it can't be...

But it is. Athelstan whips his head back around so fast it makes him dizzy. He tosses down his money, snatches up his purchase, nods a frantic thanks, and quickly makes to enter the closest isle he can get to. He doesn't see the store owner's confused expression.

Athelstan stops in front of a rack of magazines, his heart pounding and his mind racing, all of the trauma from a few days ago flooding back in. He desperately looks around himself, as if searching for a weapon, though he isn't exactly sure what he's actually looking for. He simply stands there facing the magazines, staring blindly. He soon jolts out of it though, and begins to pretend to rifle through them. He strains his ears for that voice, but the store is mostly quiet except for the gentle hum of the freezers. 

Then he glances over, and immediately startles as he finds his gaze colliding with stormy grey irises. The blond man is there, standing on the other end of the isle, staring and smirking silently. He looks positively delighted, and not in a kind way. Athelstan is frozen, and can only swallow thickly, unable to look away. The blond man tilts his head inquiringly.

Thoroughly spooked, the teenager turns on heel and exits the isle on his end, going straight for the exit. He shoves the door open, and the bell above tinkles harshly. Athelstan walks down the street briskly, keeping his eyes pointedly ahead, even when he hears the crack and scuff of sneaker-clad footsteps behind him a few moments later. He searches his mind for what the man could possibly want with him now, when they hadn't seen each other in days. Athelstan had made so sure of that. Could it be that they decided he really had seen too much? Had they made a choice to in fact take care of him for good?

A young woman passing by on the opposite side of the street looks over Athelstan's shoulder then casts him a concerned look, but doesn't say anything. He knows exactly why.

The footsteps sound frighteningly close now, and suddenly there is a solid presence right next to him. Athelstan nearly trips over his own feet, but makes his best effort to remain calm and silent on the outside.

"Hello again." the blond's voice slices through the still, tense air. "This is my third time seeing you around here."

Athelstan looks up slowly, peering at the man from beneath sweat-clumped lashes. He is too addled to even think of how to respond. The occasional brushing of the blond's arm on his sends continuous dizzying shocks through him, and he distances himself minutely, but to no avail. The man seems to gravitate towards him.

"The first time, we didn't even talk. I nearly forgot that it was our first encounter. Then the second time, I knew you looked familiar. The pieces sort of... clicked together. And now today? This must be fate, don't you think, English boy?"

Athelstan presses his lips together at the pet name. Memories of their last encounter still rage through him like a storm, warning him that he is in danger.

"You are afraid of me, aren't you?" the blond sounds cheerful.

Athelstan remains resiliently silent, his heart beating painfully hard in his ears, expecting hands on him at any moment.

"I know that we may have been harsh towards you that day, but you must understand that my... friends and I were only protecting our privacy. We of course would not have really hurt you."

Athelstan isn't reassured.

"What do you want?" he asks, voice much smaller than he would like it to be.

"Come now. I just want to meet you properly, English boy."

Athelstan glances at the man again, only to find him gazing down at him, wearing that same smirk that reveals his straight teeth. Despite his words, the blond appears delighted that Athelstan had spoken.

"What is your name?"

Athelstan steels himself. "Why would I tell you?"

The blond is in front of Athelstan so fast that the teenager runs straight into him. He staggers back a step, shocked at the hardness of that body.

The man's eyes are flint, and for the first time he isn't smiling. "I don't think you realize how dangerous of a situation you are in, English boy. It would be in your best interest to answer my questions, believe me."

Athelstan isn't sure what he means, but he believes him anyway. "George," he replies evenly.

The blond man narrows his eyes.

"Athelstan," the teenager quickly amends, blushing at how easily he is swayed.

"Athelstan," the blond nearly purrs out, looking highly amused once again, snapping out of his darker expression so quickly it leaves Athelstan confused. "What a strange name."

"It is an old English name," Athelstan mutters hesitantly. 

The blond tilts his head, hair swaying about his ears, and steps out of the way. Athelstan begins to walk again, his eyes darting around anxiously as he relocates himself. He isn't far from home. This guy will have to leave him alone then, right? If not, then Athelstan has no idea what to do. There is no chance that he will tell the man to leave him alone.

"So, Athelstan," the blond stresses on his name, walking closely beside him once again, "is it true that you live here?"

Athelstan isn't sure if he should lie, but in the end he chooses the truth. "No. I'm... only here temporarily."

"You live in England?"

Athelstan reluctantly allows himself to fall into the conversation, but answers the questions guardedly. "No... Not anymore."

"Hmm. You still sound English."

Athelstan looks over in exasperation, but doesn't try to explain himself. "You're not from around here either," he ventures.

The blond laughs quietly. "You are right. I'm not." That is all he says.

Just then, Athelstan finds himself turning onto his father's street, and shoots an anxious look towards the blond as they approach his father's cottage.

Athelstan finally stops walking, and the blond follows his example, looking at him expectantly.

"Well... I live here," Athelstan says awkwardly.

The blond grins unkindly. "I see. This is goodbye, then."

Athelstan gives a tight nod, acutely relieved, and shuffles up to his father's chipped, mint green front door, grabbing onto the hot metal handle and twisting, but before he can step inside, the blond calls to him. He looks over slowly.

"Is your house always left unlocked like that?"

Unnerved, Athelstan is stuck silent, his hand resting loosely on the door handle.

The blond shrugs, his head tilted. "Just saying, that can be dangerous."

Athelstan swallows, blinks rapidly. "M-my father is home most of the day," he says weakly.

Another shrug, a last upward twist of lips, and the man turns and walks away down the street, big hands shoved into his pockets. Athelstan watches him until he has turned the corner, then goes inside, closing the door firmly. He stays in his room for the rest of the day, thinking over what happened.

-

There is no sign of the blond man the next day, or the day after that. His appearances seem oddly erratic, Athelstan muses, and he can't help but wonder what the man could be doing, wherever he is. Not that he would really want to find out if given the chance. He's already learned his lesson in that respect.

Thankfully, and almost strangely, a wave of wind begins to blow through town after the encounter, and Athelstan no longer wakes every morning with sweat drenched into his bed sheets and pillow. He leaves his window cracked wide open every night, inviting the cool night time breeze to relieve him. His father usually doesn't like the windows open, but Athelstan thinks pettily that what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Finally, he doesn't need to go off into town all day to find shelter, and remains comfortably at home, watching the sky and wondering why on earth he was put into this situation, and praying that the worst of it is over.


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super duper unedited. If I find mistakes, I'll fix them later.
> 
> Also, WOW! Thanks for the kudos!!

**Part Four**

The days go on peacefully for Athelstan. One cool evening, the teenager takes out his sketchbook for the first time since his arrival, and sits in his bedroom at the desk next to the window, cracking it open wide to let the breeze brush his cheeks. His sea shell collection is spread in an orderly array across the left corner of his desk for him to look at. He wishes for a moment that he had his calligraphy pen, but there's nothing he can do about that. He opens his book to the first blank page he can find and starts drawing any little thing that comes to his mind; clouds, seashells, a variety of different flowers, his friend back home's pet cat. But soon the sky begins to change colours, burn bright oranges and yellows and pinks, and Athelstan finds himself alternating between his efforts and staring out of his window as the peaceful day draws to a close. He can't see the sun setting, but he can watch the sky burn out into a dark blue and reveal the stars. Stars are the last thing that he draws before his eyes begin to burn, and he drops his pencil, cracking his wrist with a wince. He watches the sky for a little longer with an empty feeling in his chest, not feeling very tired, but knowing that it is probably too late for him to stay up much longer.

Athelstan pushes away from the desk and stands, kicking out of his jeans and heading to his bed. He splays out onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. His thoughts inevitably begin to crowd his mind. He wonders when his mother will call him, if ever. He wonders if he would even pick up this time. He wonders what his friends might be doing without him. He wonders how much longer the days are going to feel, because they seem to last for years.

Athelstan flutters his eyes closed, and feels himself begin to fade away into merciful sleep.

The loud THUD sends his eyes snapping open again, and a start wracks through him.

Athelstan sits up, disoriented, and rubs a palm across his eyes, blinking hard in the dark room illuminated only by the moonlight outside. He looks around in confusion. Had he just been dreaming, or hearing things? Maybe it had been his father, though the man is usually holed up in his room by this time, with the door closed and the light on. Athelstan gets up after a moment and peers out into the hallway. On the other end he sees his father's door closed, and his light on.

THUD.

The noise comes from behind him, and Athelstan whips around, his heart pounding. His eyes have by now adjusted to the dark, but still he doesn't see anything out of place. 

The noise comes again, more violent this time, and Athelstan knows now, it's coming from outside of the house. There is something being thrown against the wall, where his window is currently wide open to let in the breeze. Athelstan swallows hard, wanting to run over and slam his window shut, but he holds himself still, waiting for another thud, before he slowly begins to approach the window with baited breath. He approaches until he can see out onto the road from his position, and what he sees shocks him.

It's the man. Again, it's the man with which he's had all of those horrible encounters. He is right out on the road, appearing to be crouched down to pick up a rock from the grass of his neighour's garden. What in the absolute hell? Athelstan steps as close as he can to the window with his desk in front of it, snapping on his lamp.

When the young man straightens up again and looks up to see Athelstan standing there, his face positively lights up with relief. He gestures urgently for Athelstan to come to him, dropping the rock to the ground in favour of clutching at his left upper arm. Athelstan stares down at him for a few long moments, assessing his options. He could close his window and go back to bed, but he gets a sinking feeling that he shouldn't do that. He could tell his father about the man standing down in front of his cottage, but somehow Athelstan doesn't see that going over well. He could go downstairs and see what the man wants.

Pressing his lips together, Athelstan nods minutely, then turns to pull his jeans back on and leaves his room, goes down the stairs two at a time, and stops at his father's front door. He takes a second to wonder what exactly is wrong with him before opening the door a couple of inches and peering outside. 

The man is startlingly only a couple of feet away, waiting with obvious impatience, and when Athelstan opens the door, he slams his hand against it, attempting to push his way inside. Athelstan braces himself against the door with a shocked gasp, struggling to push him back out, frightened by the sudden violence.

"What- on earth- are you doing?" Athelstan hisses through the space in the open door, glaring up at the familiar handsome face. Those eyes of ice pierce into him, filling with irritation and impatience, along with something else that Athelstan can't name.

"Let me in, Athelstan. Please."

It's mostly rough and demanding, but Athelstan is jarred by the hint of desperation in his voice. He stares up at the man in confusion, brow furrowed.

"Why? What's wrong with you? What..." Athelstan hears himself trail off as his gaze falls on the man's upper arm, the one he had been clutching, shocked when he sees fresh blood forming a red patch in his sweater.

The man glances over his shoulder, then turns forward and shoves at the door again. "Just let me in," he says more forcefully now.

Athelstan relents, worried about making a commotion, and steps back, pulling the door with him. The man steps inside quickly, urging Athelstan to shut the door again and lock it.

Athelstan stares at him uncertainly, eyeing him up and down. "What happened to you?" he asks in a hushed voice.

"I will tell you once we're not in the doorway," he replies pointedly, glancing around to take in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Athelstan presses his lips into a thin line, but he's inexplicably worried about the spot of blood on this troublesome man's sweater.

"Right... follow me," Athelstan instructs, turning to tiptoe up the stairs. His companion follows very closely behind him, equally silent, but Athelstan can feel the puffs of breath on the back of his neck. He holds back a shiver.

Quickly, the two of them pass Athelstan's father's bedroom and go down the hall and into Athelstan's bedroom, then close the door behind themselves.

"Close the window," the man says, and Athelstan obeys him, closing the latch firmly before turning slowly to face him.

"Why on earth would you do this?" the teenager asks in quiet disbelief.

"I needed off of the street," the man replies, as if this response makes perfect sense.

"What would you have done if it hadn't been me to come to the window?"

The man smiles easily. "I would have run away."

Athelstan shakes his head, staring warily at him. "Are you badly hurt?" he asks after a moment of tense silence.

The man laughs, this time with strain. "I don't know if it is bad, but I'm hurt."

"Ah... well, shall I... look?" Athelstan asks, genuinely concerned but also shaken up by this sudden turn of events.

The man smirks mirthlessly at Athelstan, then pulls off his sweater, wordlessly dropping it to the floor to reveal his bare arms. Athelstan swallows, then approaches him, though he stops short and inhales sharply as the man holds up his elbow, revealing a couple of bleeding, painful looking gashes across his upper arm, blood smeared on the skin all around them.

"So, is it bad?" the man asks, tilting his head.

"Er... I can't tell," Athelstan replies. He takes the last few steps to the man, who continues to stare straight into him, making the hair at the nape of his neck prickle. He looks closer at the gashes, poking tentatively around their edges. He feels the man wince under the ministrations, and quickly retracts his hand.

"It doesn't seem deep," Athelstan concludes, looking hesitantly up into that stare. "But... it is bleeding a lot. I should get something for it."

The man nods, without any sort of thank you, gazing around Athelstan's bedroom in mild curiosity. Athelstan gusts out a shaky sigh, turning and leaving his room to go get the first aid kit his father keeps in the kitchen, unable to believe that this is actually happening.

When he returns, the man is sitting on the edge of Athelstan's bed, poking gingerly at his injury, a grimace on his face. Athelstan feels helplessly invaded, but he sets his jaw and sits beside the man, taking out rubbing alcohol and wipes. He starts to clean the wound in silence, until the next time the man speaks.

"Usually I'd take care of this kind of thing myself, but..." he pauses, glances towards the window. "I had to get off of the streets, as soon as possible."

"...Why?" Athelstan inquires in a small voice, keeping his eyes on his task.

"I was in danger," the man replies in an amused tone. "Do you recognize these as knife wounds?"

Athelstan's blood runs cold. "No," he manages to say after a moment, his throat tight.

"Hm. Yes, you wouldn't, would you." The man goes silent, as if in thought, then speaks again. "A couple of fuckers tried to knife me. I probably could have been much worse off than this, had I not acted quickly. The two of them had me cornered, the bastards."

"They just attacked you out of nowhere?" Athelstan can't help exclaiming in distress, looking up into the man's face, wanting him to deny it.

"Ha. Not exactly out of nowhere. I had... they had a bone or two to pick with me, I suppose."

Athelstan blinks. "Oh." Many possibilities come to his mind, and none of them are good. Why on earth was this man nearly knifed, and what had he done to deserve it? And why, why is he so unfazed?

"No need to get too into it, though," the man says cheerfully. Athelstan burns with both curiosity and relief.

Finally, he finishes cleaning the wounds, and wraps them. 

"You're too kind, Athelstan," the man says sweetly, reaching up as if to ruffle Athelstan's hair, but Athelstan jerks out of the way.

"Well then-" Athelstan cuts himself off, unsure of how to address this man.

"Ragnar," the man fills in for him, giving a lazy smile. "I guess I never really introduced myself properly after all." 

Athelstan tries hard to keep the shock off of his face. "Right, Ragnar," he finishes, feeling his stomach turn at speaking the foreign name. He can finally put a name to the too-familiar face. "If you say that the streets aren't safe for you, then what do you plan to do now?"

Ragnar grins now. "You owe a favour to me, English boy."

Athelstan splutters. "I do not- I never- We never-"

"I seem to recall saving you from a sure beating the second time that we met," Ragnar cuts him off.

"But that was someone you were with," Athelstan reasons helplessly. "You were the threat in the first place!"

Ragnar stares hard at Athelstan, his smile gone. Athelstan tries to hold the gaze, but before long, those eyes force him into reluctant submission.

"My father would surely kill you if he found you here," Athelstan breathes weakly.

Ragnar shrugs, looking away. "Then I won't be found. By tomorrow morning, I'll be gone."

Athelstan slumps his shoulders, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. "Fine." As if he'd even had a say in the matter.

Ragnar suddenly slings an arm around his shoulders, yanking him sideways into what can only be called a hug. His wiry arm locks Athelstan into place.  
"I knew you'd understand," he purrs close to Athelstan's ear, and the teenager feels his skin rise into goosebumps.

Athelstan awkwardly tosses him a pillow and one of his bedsheets, and Ragnar gets down onto the floor without question. Athelstan releases the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

-

Athelstan wakes up groggy and lightheaded. He'd probably only slept a few hours, due to the hyperawareness that had been eating at him all night, telling him about the dangerous, injured man sleeping on the floor mere feet away from him. 

He blinks slowly, staring at the ceiling, watching the sunlight dance in its familiar dappled patterns, and wonders what time it is. Then he rolls his head to the right, and gasps in a ragged breath, yanking the sheets up to his chin. The man- Ragnar- is sitting backwards on his desk chair, staring right at him. He had been so quiet and still that Athelstan hadn't noticed him. He doesn't react to Athelstan's bewilderment, except for a slight tilt of his head and a minute upturn of chapped lips.

Athelstan sits up sheepishly, rubbing at his eyes and glancing over at his bedside clock. 9 in the morning. His father is probably up by now. The teenager looks back at Ragnar again, wondering what he could be thinking. And also why he feels the need to act so creepy.

"How long have you been awake?" Athelstan asks, his voice rough, and he coughs weakly to clear it.

Ragnar shrugs, toying with a strand of his hair. "Not that long. I heard your dad just outside the door earlier, so I didn't bother to risk leaving."

Athelstan blinks slowly. "Right." He scrubs his hands down his face and gives his head a little shake, then looks down at his jeans pooled onto the floor. He had taken them off while under his overs the night before. He glances up at Ragnar, biting his lip.

Ragnar's gaze goes intense for a split second, but then it softens again, and he spins around in the desk chair, facing towards the window.

Athelstan gratefully slides out of bed and shuffles his pants on as fast as possible, feeling himself blushing.

"How is your arm?" Athelstan asks, after Ragnar turns back around when he gives the okay.

Ragnar rolls his shoulder, head thoughtfully inclined. "It feels like shit," he concludes.

Athelstan nods. "I don't deny it," he says shyly.

"Anyway, I need to get out of here. I want to make sure that my friends are all alright, the stupid bastards."

Athelstan furrows his brow. Those other two men with Ragnar before come to his mind. "You think that they were attacked as well?"

"Yes. In fact, it's quite likely, if they were out on the streets last night." Ragnar's voice takes on a harder tone, and a concentrated look passes over him.

"Why? Is this some kind of organized crime situation?"

Athelstan is only half serious when he asks, but Ragnar smirks to himself, as if remembering some kind of personal joke. It's chilling, and all the answer that Athelstan needs.

"You should go," Athelstan says firmly. "Follow me."

Athelstan leads Ragnar to his bedroom door, and listens through it intently. When he hears nothing, he slowly opens it, and makes for the staircase on light feet. As before, Ragnar is right on his heels, breathing down his neck.

Athelstan stops at the top of the stairs. He hears his father in the kitchen.

"Be extremely quiet," Athelstan whispers over his shoulder, holding back a startled gasp when he finds his face a mere foot form Ragnar's.

Ragnar nods silently, and Athelstan quickly turns back around, thoroughly ruffled. They descend the stairs two at a time, and he winces as they creak loudly under two pairs of feet.

"Athelstan?"

The two boys freeze in their tracks, looking at each other with wide eyes. It's almost comical.

"Yes, father?" Athelstan calls back, as calmly as he can, though he still hears the anxious edge to his voice.

"Are you going out?"

"Er, yeah, for a bit!"

"Fine, but be back before the sun starts setting, please! There's been some stuff in the news."

"Alright!"

Athelstan and Ragnar go down the rest of the stairs and straight out the front door. Athelstan closes and leans back against it with a shuddering sigh of relief. Ragnar looks like he is holding back laughter.

"Your dad is English as well," he comments.

Athelstan gives him a tired look of irritation. "Of course he is."

Ragnar laughs, and the sounds grates on Athelstan's nerves, no matter how raspy and endearing it is.

"Look, perhaps you should leave now, so that you can..." Athelstan trails off into silence as he abruptly catches sight of someone over Ragnar's shoulder who he hadn't previously noticed, standing across the road from them. It's a young man, one who Athelstan doesn't recognize, and he's staring holes into Ragnar's back. He looks raggedy and uncleanly, and it unsettles Athelstan.

Ragnar looks over his shoulder, following Athelstan's gaze, and immediately stiffens, quickly looking back down at Athelstan. "Shit."

"What?"

"That's him." Ragnar glances over his shoulder again, his golden brows harshly furrowed. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

Ragnar once again looks at Athelstan, his eyes hard. "You need to come with me."

Athelstan's heart jolts. " _What?_ Why?" he asks in dismay, almost reaching for the door knob behind him and running back inside. No, no more of this, no more being forced into a situation that he isn't even a part of!

Ragnar reaches out and closes his wide hand around Athelstan's upper arm, tugging him forward in an urgent manner, leaving no room for objection. Athelstan stumbles, and holds back a cry of protest. 

"Don't ask questions right now," Ragnar hisses close to Athelstan's ear, "just follow me, and do not look anywhere but straight ahead."

Shaken once again, Athelstan obeys, resisting the urge to look back towards his house and keeping his eyes fixed down the street that Ragnar begins to lead him, his skin crawling as he feels the gaze of the stranger behind them. He wonders in distress if he'll be able to get back home before sunset, like his father wanted.


	5. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this part lagged so much; unfortunately I had to do a lot of plot rewriting. Ah well. This summer has been hectic.

**Part Five**

Athelstan allows himself to be led by the arm until he and Ragnar are well into town, before he glances over his shoulder. The stranger who had been staring at them is nowhere to be seen, but Athelstan still feels deeply unnerved by Ragnar's reaction to him. Finally, when Athelstan grows tired of the silence and the walking, he stops, tugging with the arm that Ragnar is holding. Ragnar falters to a stop as well, turning and giving Athelstan a warning look. Athelstan shakes his head in distress when Ragnar's hold on him tightens, painful and purposeful.

"Please, where are we going?" the teenager asks desperately. He can't pull out of Ragnar's grip, no matter how hard he tries.

Ragnar glances around them, at the steady flow of people walking down the streets, none of them really paying the two young men any attention. The blond seems to make a decision, and yanks Athelstan along until they are against the wall of some coffee shop, obviously dead at this time of year. Still holding on to him, Ragnar leans in so that his face is only inches from Athelstan's. 

"Listen to me," Ragnar hisses, "I will tell you everything once we get to Floki's house, but until then, we must keep walking. I need to see him as soon as possible."

"F-Floki?" Athelstan stammers out. "Who-"

"A friend of mine," Ragnar interrupts, pulling Athelstan after him and back out onto the sun-soaked street. "You will meet him soon. I promise you, this is for your safety as well as mine."

Athelstan isn't so sure that he wants to meet this Floki, if he is anything like this man, but he knows better than to object, and simply resumes following after, or rather being dragged after, Ragnar.

They continue to travel in silence across town, and as time passes, Ragnar releases Athelstan, and simply allows him to trail along a couple of paces behind him, apparently trusting him not to turn tail and run back home. Athelstan does consider it, but he doesn't act on the impulse. Ragnar's reaction earlier had been alarmingly genuine, and Athelstan decided he trusted the blonde man more than the stranger that had been watching them with a definite calculated coldness in his eyes.

Soon, they enter back into a more sparse neighbourhood area, where occupied cottages are located. Ragnar glances over his shoulder at Athelstan, who straightens subconsciously and meets the man's gaze with his own.

"We're almost there," Ragnar says, then raises an eyebrow. "Come over here."

Athelstan bites his lip, feeling a bit irritated that he is being ordered about, but he speeds up his pace until he is next to Ragnar, who tugs him closer by his elbow. They wind down a narrow dirt lane, farther and farther towards the forest near the west side of the town, and Athelstan feels his heart rate begin to pick up again. He's never been here before, and panic wracks through him at the displaced sensation. He wants to ask Ragnar where they are going again, but knows he will get the same meaningless answer, and bites his tongue, just hoping to come out of this situation in one piece.

Abruptly, Ragnar stops in front of a cottage surrounded by overgrown grass, with a small, wooden two-step porch, leading to a door with paint peeling so severely that the colour is unidentifiable. The cottage looks as if it is half way to rotting to the ground, it's so worn. But though it is, Athelstan can see that it is still being taken care of by someone.

"Just be quiet, and do as I say," the blond murmurs, breaking the teenager out of his thoughts.

Ragnar is holding onto Athelstan's upper arm again, and they climb the stairs to the door. Ragnar raps out a rhythmic pattern onto the wood, then keeps his fist impatiently pressed into the door. Athelstan swallows dryly, eyes wide and anxious, and unable to pull away.

After a few moments, there is the sound of a latch sliding, and the door groans open to reveal the face of a tall, gangling man with rather mussed hair, peering cautiously outside.

"Floki," Ragnar breathes out, a grin cracking his face. The tall man- Floki- returns the smile with one equally as wide and enthusiastic. 

"Ragnar. I did not expect to see you today." The thick accent is the same as Ragnar's. Floki glances towards Athelstan, a suspicious look in his eyes, and the teenager feels himself shrink under the scrutiny, looking helplessly to Ragnar, who also casts Athelstan a look, almost as if he'd forgotten that he had been holding the young man in place there.

"Don't worry, he is harmless," Ragnar assures Floki, and Athelstan flushes and shifts on his feet with embarrassment.

Floki continues to eye Athelstan quizzically, but apparently trusts Ragnar well enough, for he steps back with a 'very well' and pulls the door with him, allowing for Ragnar and an unwilling Athelstan to step over the threshold.

Inside, the cottage is quite dark and muted, most of the illumination coming from the tinted windows. Athelstan blinks, his eyes adjusting to the disorientating surroundings. Floki leads them into the next room, where two couches are placed opposite each other, separated by a scratched up coffee table, along with few other pieces of furniture scattered about the room. Ragnar helps himself to one of the couches, tugging Athelstan along behind him and forcing him to sit down next to him. Athelstan's eyes continue to shift around the room, his skin prickling with unease.

Floki sits across from them, leaning in close and reaching over the coffee table to clasp onto Ragnar's knee, barely an inch from Athelstan's. "You made it out alive. I'm glad. I thought you might have been seriously hurt."

Ragnar closes his hand over Floki's, leaning in as well. Athelstan gladly keeps his personal space.

"They did manage to nick me on the arm, but other than that, they were too stupid to follow my trail for long." Ragnar grins wolfishly, wrapping his free arm around Athelstan and pulling their sides flush together. Athelstan finds it maddening, even more so, when Ragnar doesn't let him pull out of the embrace.

"Do you know if Rollo is alright? Siggy? Lagertha?" Ragnar asks eagerly, his eyes still trained on his friend. "My cell phone has been smashed to pieces."

Floki shakes his head remorsefully, his eyes flickering to Athelstan. Athelstan, who had been running the foreign names "Rollo, Siggy, Lagertha" in his head curiously, nearly starts.

"I have not seen them, Ragnar. They were out on the streets last night, as was I. They most likely scattered, like we did."

Ragnar slowly sits back into the couch again, thankfully loosening his hold on Athelstan. "They will be fine," the blond man says. "They know how to take care of themselves. They will come to us soon, I imagine."

Silence falls for a few moments. Then Floki's eyes rest on Athelstan once again, his smile a decidedly unfriendly one. "So, who is this one, then?"

Athelstan opens his mouth to speak, but Ragnar tightens his fingers around the teenager's upper arm and talks in front of him, that insufferable smirk on his face.

"This is a boy that Rollo and I happened across a few days ago, the day Rollo and I had a transaction to deal with. He was awfully curious about us, it seemed. We had to warn him about his curiosity. But he's really quite a helpful person." Ragnar smiles down at Athelstan, his eyes intense, almost possessive, and Athelstan's mouth goes dry. "His name is Athelstan." 

Athelstan remains silent, lowering his head slightly.

Athelstan is aware of Floki continuing to watch him, unwavering, forcing him into deeper and deeper levels of discomfort. Athelstan almost looks to Ragnar again in a silent plea for help or guidance, just barely restrains the urge.

" _And why exactly have you brought this... boy here? For what purpose?_ " Floki demands in a different language, distrust clear in his tone of voice. Athelstan is shocked as he recognizes it as Icelandic. He should have recognized the accents, really. He had studied many languages and the history of language in his free time, when he had wanted to travel the world while studying post-secondary, and this language had also been closely tied with some of his studies in religious history. With an effort, he pretends like he doesn't understand, still hyper aware of Floki's stare.

Ragnar gives Athelstan a gentle jostle, causing him to look at the blond with meek irritation. "As I said, he has been a great help to me. He offered me shelter from the streets last night, when I was in danger of being ambushed," Ragnar says, in English, to Athelstan's relief.

Floki, finally, glances back to Ragnar, leaving Athelstan feeling as if he's been released, and arches a thin eyebrow. "Did he now?" he questions, reverting back to English with Ragnar.

Ragnar flashes his teeth in a smile. "He did. He has been very compliant."

"But _why is he here_ , Ragnar?"

Ragnar's smile seems to harden into something more predatory. "Because I like him." Athelstan almost chokes on his next inhale. "I wanted to have his company on the way here."

A high pitched giggle escapes Floki; he leans back with the force of it. "How much does he know, Ragnar?" Suddenly Floki addresses Athelstan. "What has he told you?"

Athelstan stammers, a deer in the headlights, but Ragnar cuts him off once again. "I've told him nothing yet. Don't give him ideas."

"Yet?" Floki asks sarcastically.

Ragnar shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe he could learn more about us if I really like him." the blond smiles to himself as if he's just said something very amusing.

"Please don't be like this," Floki mutters. "Stop making these jokes. They aren't funny. There are things we must worry about."

"Of course, you're right." Ragnar still looks amused. "I just wish you to understand that Athelstan is no threat."

"No need, Ragnar. It isn't my choice what you do in your spare time." He casts Athelstan a leering look, and the teenager looks away quickly.

Ragnar's grin is radiant now, and he hugs Athelstan to his side again. "I'm glad! Rollo is probably back at home by now, looking for me. I just wanted to make sure about you. I'll go home and see if he is alright."

Floki nods and waves a hand dismissively, lounging back again and drawing his feet up onto the edge of the couch, crossing his arm on his knees. "You do that." He assesses Athelstan one last time. "I hope that you know what you're doing."

Ragnar ignores the comment and stands up, pulling Athelstan with him. "I will see you soon," he says to Floki in farewell, and with that tugs Athelstan along to the front door.

Once they are outside of the cottage, Athelstan breathes a sigh of relief, though he still feels irritated about Ragnar shoving him around anywhere he wants him to be. Now in a more open space, he yanks his arm out of Ragnar's hold, and surprisingly Ragnar lets him.

The blond slides his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, and casually follows Athelstan down the dirt road. 

"You are angry, Athelstan?" The mirth in Ragnar's voice makes him feel even more irritated.

"No," Athelstan replies tersely. He isn't angry, really. He just feels so in the dark. He sees Ragnar catch up to him out of the corner of his eye, so that they're elbow to elbow. Athelstan glances up at him, catches eyes with him. The eye contact is charged for some reason, and Athelstan tries not to squirm.

"You are upset with the way I treated you," Ragnar states, doesn't ask.

Athelstan blushes and looks away, but Ragnar's thumb is suddenly under his chin, pushing, forcing Athelstan to look at him again. His face is so close...

"Are you upset?" he asks again.

Overwhelmed, Athelstan pushes Ragnar's hand away. "Yes, then! I am!" he snaps, still flushed.

Ragnar's face is oddly calm, his smile gone. "Would you like to go home?" he asks after a long pause.

Athelstan blinks, nods slowly.

"Then we will go."

They walk in silence for a while, slowly, letting the sun bake into them. It's quite companionable, and Athelstan can't understand why he finds comfort in Ragnar's presence next to him, especially when everything that as gone wrong is the blond man's fault in the first place.

When they finally reach Athelstan's father's house, not one word has passed between them, and Ragnar stops walking. Athelstan thinks that he will simply go inside without a goodbye, and he's thankful for it, taking a step towards the front door, but Ragnar grabs onto his wrist, his grip gentle but firm. Athelstan turns back to look at him warily.

"Athelstan, I have to tell you something." Ragnar is staring at him, eyes dark.

"What is it?" Athelstan asks, confused and even more wary.

Ragnar glances over Athelstan's shoulder, towards his father's house, then back down to him. He lets go of Athelstan's wrist to hold onto his upper arm again. "I feel that you might be in danger."

Athelstan stares back at him. "What do you mean?"

Ragnar sighs, looks around himself, then pulls Athelstan closer. "Remember the man that we saw here earlier today?" he asks in a hushed tone.

Athelstan nods.

The corner of Ragnar's mouth drags upwards. "He was the one who nearly stabbed me."

Athelstan feels his face go pale. "He... was?"

"Yes. To make things short, that man hates me with a passion. He hates all of us, but he would probably give a lot to see me suffer."

"But... but why?" Athelstan whispers, wondering what Ragnar and his friends could have done.

"A lot has happened between us. You could say that we have gotten a bit... competitive, over time." He tilts his head towards the gash on his upper arm, hidden beneath the blood-stained sleeve of his sweater. Athelstan's eyes widen. "Considering this, can you understand why I could not leave you here, after he saw me with you?"

"Oh..." Athelstan's blood goes cold. "Oh." He glances across the street, where the man had been not long ago. Suddenly, it all makes sense. Athelstan feels giddy. "Would he really have... done something to me?" the teenager asks shakily.

Ragnar shrugs, straightening up again, and raising his voice to a normal level. "I'm not certain. It depends on what he assumed you are to me. He could have just thought that you were... well, never mind that, but I couldn't risk it. He has his methods of getting to someone. It would be better if he had not seen us together at all."

Athelstan's heart tightens at that. _What exactly am I to you?_ he wants to ask, but realizes he doesn't want the answer. "Why would you want to make sure that I was safe?" he asks instead, voice small.

Ragnar smirks, giving Athelstan a quick once over. "Do you think me _so_ heartless, Athelstan? You did help me last night, after all."

Athelstan furrows his brows. "You made me help you."

"All the same," Ragnar replies readily. "A favour is a favour."

Athelstan purses his lips, crosses his arms tightly, and considers this. "Well... thank you, I think." It seems the only response left to give.

Ragnar's smirk brightens into a smile. He gestures for Athelstan to go inside. "Go home. You should lie low for a little while, and your dad is probably worried about you anyway," he says with a teasing lilt.

Athelstan sighs at the mention of his father. "Yeah. He's been talking at me a lot about the news recently..."

Ragnar breathes a laugh, but otherwise doesn't reply to this. He takes a step back onto the road.

"Well, goodbye, Athelstan." He pulls one hand out of his pocket and waves lazily.

Athelstan watches him, and wonders if this is goodbye for good. It would probably be better that way. Still, he wants to ask Ragnar if he will see him again. 

"Goodbye, Ragnar," he replies hesitantly. In the same undecided fashion, he goes to the front door and opens it, and before he steps through, he looks over his shoulder. Ragnar is gone.

Athelstan stares blankly at the empty street for a long moment, and all is ghostly still before his father calls his name from somewhere in the house, jolting him back into awareness. He steps inside and closes the door softly. This time he turns the lock; it slides in place with a rusty squeal.


	6. Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the really long hiatus. I started Uni and have also been working on a few other fics at once, so I've had a lot on my plate. Sry sry sryyy but now that we're at this point in the story, things can REALLY start cookin'.
> 
> Song I listened to while writing this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26J98jG_j4k  
> (It's really good and gets me in the mood for writing c:)
> 
> ((Also been thinking of changing the title of this fic but idk!! Enjoy!!))

**Part Six**

Days pass lazily from then, like a warm summer breeze. Once again, as Ragnar steps seamlessly out of Athelstan's life, everything seems to slide back on its own, back to a place of relative normality, but still with that missing piece. Athelstan spends his days milling about, carrying on with his art, or going out and admiring the beach scenery. Ragnar, of course, still occupies his mind predominantly, but rather than take over his every thought, it becomes a comfortable hum in the background of his subconscious, allowing him to ponder at other things, like whether he should stop by the ice cream shop, or swim in the shores of the beach. He'd managed to make a couple of friends at the beach, though both of them were a few years younger than him, he didn't mind. They had been nice enough to approach him one day, and ask him for a game of catch. He'd reluctantly accepted, and later found that he was glad that he had. He just wanted to keep occupied, and they loved to swim as well, like he did. So he swam too, and he tried to forget.

It had been hard, the day Ragnar had left him again. His father had called him inside, and he had gone, though it had pained him. He'd toed off his shoes and padded wistfully to the kitchen, thinking about nothing except for wondering where the man could be going, what he could be doing. Perhaps he was going to find the friends that he had mentioned before? He'd said a man named Rollo would be looking for him by now... 

Before he can think any deeper into the possibilities, the teenager is jolted out of his thoughts as he finds his father standing in the middle of the kitchen, his arms folded and looking directly at his son, expression carefully neutral. Athelstan blinks in owlish confusion.

"Father?" he asks, his brows furrowing and his hand reaching up to tangle nervously in his curls.

"Who was that you were talking to out there?" 

"Oh," Athelstan says, trying to sound innocently surprised, his eyebrows raising. "Just, ehm, a- a friend I've met."

His father narrows his eyes a little, but they appear more thoughtful than confronting, and he reaches up to stroke at his beard. "Hm... Really. Seems a bit old for you, doesn't he?"

Shit. So his father had seen them talking. Had seen Ragnar grabbing at him. Athelstan tries to push his mortification down his throat and into his stomach, to let it stew there until a later time, when he can let it be properly felt.

"It's the beard," Athelstan stammers awkwardly, glancing over his shoulder as if Ragnar were still standing behind him, even though by now he was long gone. "Makes him... look older. He's around my age, actually. Very... nice." Athelstan of course has no clue how old the man is, but he'd looked relatively young, regardless of his facial hair, though still older than Athelstan. Still, he didn't want his father to get suspicious.

His father had accepted the excuses easily enough, though he always had, with Athelstan. He was anything but an obtrusive parent. Athelstan prefers it that way. He'd never been too close to his father, and it would probably be awkward to try and connect with him now.

"I've been getting a little worried recently, to be honest," his father seems to be confessing, leaning on the kitchen table with his arms still crossed. "The news has really been negative these past few weeks... I'm just hoping it doesn't get worse. I've been worrying about you."

Athlstan's mouth parts, but he only gives a slow nod. He isn't sure what else to say or do.

His father's gaze had fallen away as he'd been speaking, wandering about the old kitchen. "I trust you to stay safe, however. I can trust you on that, right?"

Athelstan nods again, but then realizes his father isn't looking at him, and instead speaks a simple, "Of course."

His father gives a sheepish little smile, glancing over to Athelstan again. "Good," he says, before shuffling off into the living room. 

Athelstan had been left to himself again, and had to continue on with his life as normal, until days had passed.

By this time, Athelstan had long settled into the atmosphere of the town, even growing to sort of enjoy it. He'd stopped missing his mother and friends back home quite so badly, and just accepted the calm beauty of the beach town as his new home, just so he could bare it a little easier. Things might have even been starting to go back to how they used to be, if not for the persistent cloud in his mind dedicated solely to Ragnar. He could deal with that, though. It didn't eat at him like it used to. Now it was just... there, gently buzzing. Just another memory, just another experience stored away in his mind. Everyone had those, didn't they?

The beach was his new favourite place to be. The sound of the waves, of the residents yelling and laughing, the seagulls calling, all of it was was like a blessed lullaby, and Athelstan even found himself smiling now and again, hanging out there with his new friends in the water. He did tend to drift off on his own, though, wading down the shore and towards the rocks. As much as he enjoyed company, sometimes he felt a little overwhelmed by it all, and had to take the rest of the day to recuperate alone.

Today is exceptionally hot, Athelstan's sheets had been sticking to him as he'd woken up, feeling damp and overheated. He's already been invited to go down to the beach today, so he immediately gets up and prepares to leave, scrubbing at his eyes and glancing at his bedside clock.

Since he'd started swimming, his father had let him borrow some of his old shorts, seeing as Athelstan hadn't brought a swimsuit with him, and even if he had, his was so old that it probably would have been too tight of a fit. Athelstan pulled a pair on, along with a tee-shirt, and left the house without a word or anything else.

The teenager's mind was still fuzzy with sleep, and it was blistering hot outside, so the walk to the beach felt like something out of a dream. He was sweating by the time he'd reached it, and spotted his friends down on the shore already. He gave a small smile at that, skidding carelessly down the small hill that dipped to the beach sand, sending up clouds of sand in his wake. He hurried down to them, and they immediately waved him over, knocking a beach ball around in the air. Athelstan joined them for a little bit, but soon he was more drawn to the shells and rocks on the ground. His friends went off a little deeper into the water, while Athelstan stayed on the beach, tossing their ball back to them whenever they knocked it too far towards shore.

Athelstan loses track of time from then on, absorbed in enjoying the ocean. Only when a gust of wind carries his friends' beach ball past his head and further down the beach does he look up, waving to them to indicate that he'd go get it. The teenager turns and ambles out of the water, up the beach and towards the ball, keeping his eyes fixed on it as it rolls softly across the sand. He picks up the pace and jogs the rest of the way, stumbling to catch it before it could go any farther.

When he straightens up again, holding the ball in both hands, the sun catches his eyes the same time as he notices the motionless figure standing there, and he almost thinks that he is seeing things. He presses the ball to his chest with one hand, cupping the other over his eyes, then his jaw goes slack, his lips parting and his eyes widening.

It's Ragnar. He's standing there, only a few paces away, right at the bottom of the sand slope, his hands in his pockets and his eyes meeting with Athelstan's immediately. Athelstan almost isn't surprised to see him. This is starting to feel like a familiar routine, with Ragnar showing up after days of disappearing. Still, like always, Athelstan doesn't know what to say or do.

Ragnar has that smirk on his face. "Having fun?" he asks, tilting his head inquiringly, and hearing his voice jolts Athelstan back to the present.

Athelstan glances anxiously behind himself, over to his friends, who are watching them expectantly, but curiously, still waiting in the water. He's about to tell them that he's coming, but suddenly the beach ball is snatched from his grasp, and he spins back around, eyes wide as he watches Ragnar, now right in front of him, give it a twirl between his fingertips before tossing it up in the air and knocking it back towards the beach. It soars right over, landing on the surface of the water with a wet slap. One of the two boys in the water retrieves it, still giving Athelstan a weird look. Athelstan waves him away again, signalling that he is fine. Reluctantly, they go back to their game, and Athelstan turns his attention back to Ragnar.

"Why are you here?" he asks almost nervously, looking up into those icy eyes. Ragnar stares right back, still with that small smile of his.

"I thought I'd say hello to you," he replies calmly. Athelstan swallows as he listens to the lilting voice, having to suppress a shiver.

"Oh," he says, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He hadn't thought that he would be phased by Ragnar's presence like this, if he ever saw him again. He'd wanted to be stoic and cold, unaffected by the older man. He truly thought that he would react just like that to the sight of him. But already, anxiety and anticipation were coursing through him, and it made him feel angry at himself.

"I also need to talk to you," Ragnar continues on, glancing over Athelstan's shoulder pointedly, to where Athelstan hopes his friends are still playing and minding their own business. "It's a bit urgent, so if you wouldn't mind..?"

"Urgent in what way?" Athelstan asks slowly, apprehensively.

"I'll tell you once we leave. I have somewhere to be."

Athelstan wants to scowl and roll his eyes at that, but being the ever polite person he is, he restrains himself and gives a short nod. He turns and waves to his friends one last time, gesturing that he was going to be leaving. They wave back, one of them nodding in understanding. Thank goodness.

With that, Athelstan leaves with Ragnar, climbing back up the sand hill to the sidewalk above. Ragnar reaches the top first, and reaches out for Athelstan to take his hand. Athelstan wants to ignore it, but he just can't. He takes the hand and Ragnar pulls him up the rest of the way. It's as wide and warm as he remembered it. Athelstan however makes sure to yank his own hand away as soon as he's rebalanced.

Ragnar leads him on down the sidewalk, towards the north end of town, sliding his hands into his pockets. Athelstan walks next to him, feeling a little self-conscious in the ratty old shorts he's wearing. He doesn't want to let Ragnar lead him anywhere he pleases, like last time, but he hadn't been able to resist before, and, with a feeling of resignation, can't see how he could now. He'd thought he'd been done with this...

"Are they friends of yours?" Ragnar asks then, his tone teasing.

Athelstan shrugs, trying not to show how high strung he is. "Sort of." They weren't really friends, when it came down to it. Just friendly acquaintances.

"Ah. You're still a lone wolf around here."

Athelstan casts Ragnar a disdainful sideways look, and he laughs, clasping a hand around the teenager's shoulder blade. Athelstan swallows nervously.

"I only joke with you, Athelstan," Ragnar says, and Athelstan feels his stomach knot up upon hearing his name from the man's mouth, desperately willing his face not to turn red.

"What's so urgent?" Athelstan asks, hoping to change the subject fast.

Ragnar gives Athelstan's shoulder a light squeeze before letting go, though his demeanour quickly turns more somber, and Athelstan picks it up right away, always hyper aware of Ragnar's emotional charge, for some stupid reason. Ragnar was always good at hiding his discomfort or unease, so when he let it show like this, Athelstan can't help but feel nervous.

Ragnar seems to think over his words for a long moment as they walk. "You've been going to the beach quite often, these past few days," he says at last, his tone very carefully neutral.

Athelstan gives him a thoroughly confused look at that. "Yes..?"

Ragnar nods, not looking back at him. "I've been... watching for you." He seems a bit uncomfortable as he says this, sliding his hands around in his pockets as if trying to find something to do. His eyes also seem to be glancing every which way, as if he was looking for something, or someone. "Do you recall what I said to you, the last time we saw each other?"

Athelstan tries to think back on it, biting at his lower lip, but he'd been trying so hard to forget that it doesn't come to him. Everything Ragnar has ever told him has been obscure and nonsensical to him, anyway. "I can't say that I do."

Ragnar smirks, but it isn't happy in any way. "I told you that you might be in danger. Remember?"

It comes back to Athelstan like a ton of bricks then, and he parts his lips in surprise. "Yes, I do remember. You thought the man who stabbed you might... come after me, or something?"

"Yes," Ragnar replies, his voice harder than before. Athelstan looks at him worried now.

"If it makes you feel better, I haven't had any run ins, with anyone," Athelstan says gently, trying for consoling. He gazes at Ragnar softly now, his heart squeezing with some kind of emotion that he can't place. Had he been missing this man's presence? That's what it's starting to feel like. He had missed Ragnar, especially this softer, more open version of him.

Ragnar glances back at him, and their eyes lock. It's a charged stare, and to Athelstan their eyes meeting for some reason feels meaningful more often than it doesn't.

Ragnar shakes his head, looking away again and staring off into the general direction that they were walking. "I know. I... this might make you upset, but I've been watching after you the past couple of days, to make sure that you are alright."

Athelstan is shocked into silence for a moment. More than a moment. He doesn't know what to say. Again.

Ragnar continues to talk when Athelstan offers no other reaction. "I noticed you at the beach, and through observation, I found that you went regularly. I felt a little better, really, because you were safer in one place."

"Why do you care?" Athelstan bursts out, regretting the question almost instantly. He wanted to know, though. It couldn't still be because he 'owed' Athelstan, he'd already paid that off by bringing the teenager with him to Floki's cottage. So why?

Ragnar smiles once again, though this one seems to be the first that is genuine. "I don't know." He sounds both emotional and defeated, and it wrenches at Athelstan's chest. He still has no words to say, so he just lets Ragnar go at his own pace, waiting for him to explain something, anything, a dog trailing after him on the sidewalk. The sun was still high in the sky, as it had been all morning, but now it felt out of place.

Ragnar stops suddenly, his sneakers skidding audibly on the pavement, and Athelstan jerks to a standstill next to him, watching almost raptly. Ragnar turns to the shorter boy, and his face looks... dark. It's serious, which sort of scares Athelstan, but he doesn't think he's scared of Ragnar himself anymore. It's more what could have possibly caused the man such turmoil that he reveals his emotions in such a way. Athelstan's breath is stolen away as the look is leveled at him.

"I think that I've made a bad mistake, Athelstan." It's said with an apprehensive sureness that sends another shiver through the teenager.

"About what?" Athelstan asks, voice smaller than it's ever been.

"I've gotten you involved in something that a child shouldn't be involved with." Ragnar is still looking into Athelstan's eyes with that intensity, turning his blue eyes an arctic grey. He reaches up and grabs onto Athelstan's upper arms. "I am sorry."

Athelstan swallows hard, but as unsettling as Ragnar's words are, he feels safer with those hands on him. "Ragnar, please just tell me what's going on," he pleads, though his voice is still soft as a feather.

Ragnar sighs, gusty and ragged. "The man who stabbed me. The one who saw us together. He took what he saw to heart, Athelstan. You are on his radar. I came across him just recently, and he mentioned you, to try and antagonize me."

"Wh- how?" Athelstan stammers, his heart truly pounding now. He's scared at the idea. What could someone like _that_ possibly want with _Athelstan?_ There couldn't be anything but bad intentions there.

"This is exactly what I was expecting to happen," Ragnar mutters, mostly to himself, his eyes falling away from Athelstan's. Now that Athelstan looks at him, he seems wound up, like he'd just done something adrenalizing. His heart sinks even further. Had Ragnar just recently had this altercation he spoke of?

"That's why I needed you to come with me. I wanted to do it discreetly, so that your friends wouldn't worry."

Athelstan nods slowly, in understanding, but still worried and confused at the same time. "What did he say? What do we do?" he asks hesitantly, prepared now to do what Ragnar asks him to, both to help himself, and to soothe the agitated blond.

"You'll hear it later, but first I need to take you somewhere safer. I promise you that you are not safe just hiding in your house anymore, at least not today."

So, this again.

"Fine. Lead the way." Athelstan holds out a hand, gesturing for Ragnar to take over, more than willing to let him, at this point. He was capable and knew a vast much more about this than Athelstan, and it was still Ragnar's beef, after all, not Athelstan's. He can't help but feel a sense of excitement, though, as well as determination. Maybe now, finally, he would learn something about what was going on in this town, and what Ragnar had to do with it, because evidently, it was a lot.

Ragnar takes his extended hand, and Athelstan wants to protest on instinct, to say he'd follow, but he stops himself and lets Ragnar pull him along, back into town, down the familiar yet foreign winding roads. He talks to Athelstan over his shoulder now, eager to keep moving even in the dead of morning.

"First, there are some people I need you to meet."


End file.
